


That One Time Rich Goranski Crashed His Car

by onlyangels (orphan_account)



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Blackmail, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Michael is an unreliable narrator, Minor Character Death, Non Linear Timeline, Suicide Attempts, a wild ride involving a lot of manipulation and possible police involvement, does this count as a mystery?, technically takes place after the musical but also? non linear timelines., this isn’t a romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-10-31 14:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17851637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/onlyangels
Summary: Michael’s senior year wasn’t supposed to go like this.OrSomebody knows what Michael did last summer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! 
> 
> This is going to be a mess, but please stick with me. Hope you guys enjoy a good mystery.

It was more likely for there to be a circle in hell specifically meant for those that stand in the middle of a busy hallway, than for Michael Mell to be standing there, in front of Chloe Valentine, who was drenched in what he hoped was strawberry sauce. 

But here they were, staring each other down, neither of them even attempting to start the inevitably awkward interaction ahead. God, he hoped it was strawberry sauce drying on her hair. 

“It’s blood,” Thank god, she bit the bullet and spoke first. The gratitude didn’t last long, as her words sunk in. She wasn’t drenched in strawberry sauce anymore, the blood (holy shit was she Carrie?) was everywhere, on every square inch of her body. Her dress stuck to her body in odd places and the fabric was a mushy black mess in various parts. She was covered in blood. 

“Whose?” He asked, his voice sounding choked off, still with the both of them having a standoff on his front porch. He should really invite her in, he thought. 

“I think its cow’s blood,” She twisted her hands, they were caked in a dark, peeling red. 

At least no one had died. 

Except for the cow. If it was a cow. He really hoped it was a cow. He hoped a little bit more that this was an elaborate prank. 

He digressed. Chloe Valentine was in front of his house, covered in blood, in the middle of a February night. She waved her arms out in front of her in a “surprise!” esque gesture. 

“Happy Valentine’s day am I right?!” Oh god, she was in the middle of a breakdown. Michael was Not Prepared for a Chloe Valentine level of breakdown. He was doomed. He hoped the will he’d written in seventh grade was still somewhere in his room, at least Jeremy would get his limited edition X Men comic books. Maybe Chloe would turn out to be Jean Grey in disguise, maybe. 

He focused on the real, very much not-Jean-Grey girl in front of him. She wasn’t crying, but she was close. He didn’t really want to find out how that would go down. 

“Come inside,” He whispered, mostly to his feet. She got the message though, and slipped past him, pointedly not touching anything. 

“Are you -“ Michael started, 

“If you ask me if I’m okay I’ll fucking scream,” She turned to him with the grace of a ballerina and the anger of Dark Phoenix. Yeah, she was totally Jean Grey in disguise. 

“Okay, okay, then tell me what happened?” He led her down the hall and to the kitchen, her shoes leaving splatters of blood on the hardwood. His moms would have a fit when they saw. If they saw. He really hoped they didn’t, he really hoped Chloe would leave and leave quick, but he had the sinking feeling that his night wasn’t ending anytime soon. He thought about his watch later playlist on YouTube and mourned his normal Friday night, he also mourned for his poor, gullible soul, because this had to be a joke. 

“We were at Becket’s place and - and when I was outside well - !” She gestured to herself in disgust, her eyes glaring down at her ruined dress.

“I’d gotten a text telling me to go outside, and it was Jenna’s number, but she wasn’t there, I thought she had come to the party, but, and then right after, my phone started to ring.”

“They told me that ‘cow’s blood isn’t very vogue’.” Her fingers made silly air quotes, but her voice was frantic and rushed. Rehearsed. It was rehearsed. Right? Nothing this fucked happened at a Valentine’s day party. Nothing this fucked happened ever. 

Chloe was totally pulling a Carrie prank on him. A hundred percent.

“You’re fucking with me, right? That’s not cow’s blood?” He shook his head, taking a step back from her, she looked even more frazzled when she realized Michael wasn’t buying her story. 

“Let me finish, Michael, please,” 

“Why would Jenna do that to you? Who the hell do you think you are? That’s not fun-“

“They called with Jenna’s phone, but Jenna’s at Jeremy’s place, she’s been there all night. But her phone went missing right after she got to Jeremy’s. I got off the phone with him after what they told me.” Michael kept running through every little detail, not that there was much to go off of, but who the hell pours cow’s blood on a girl and steals a phone just to fuck with her some more? God, this was a joke. He’d wasted perfectly good X Men references on a joke with poor taste. 

“What about Jenna’s location on the Snapchat or whatever? Find her phone and find the alleged cow murderers, right?” Michael refused to buy it, nope, his Jean Grey in disguise looking friend was just fucking with him. No one hated Chloe Valentine enough to warrant that. But he was totally the one they’d prank like this, god, he had thought they’d - 

“Becket’s house. They’re tearing the place up right now, but Michael,” 

“Chloe, why are you -“ 

“They said they wanted to talk to you next. They said that they wanted me to get your attention, so, here I am, getting your attention.” She stared him down again, and the twisting of her hands, the blood stained floor, the mess that she had revealed herself to be, it came full circle. 

Chloe Valentine had walked into his house, covered in blood, and it wasn’t a joke.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! 
> 
> This is an extremely short chapter and kind of just sets up some little expositional pieces of the story. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

There was a broken glass, a bottle of Jim Bean, and an empty tube of lipstick. A car horn was unceasingly blaring across the street. 

Jeremy was asleep underneath the kitchen table. Michael sat on the cushioned chair next to where Jeremy lay, snoring obnoxiously. 

Michael had misplaced his phone sometime during the night, in between the pizza arriving and Jeremy taking off his shirt. That was a sight. Christine had practically swooned all over again, gross. 

Nothing like a reflective surface to keep the female gaze, right? 

That was mean; Jeremy just didn’t go outside, or take his shirt off when he did. Michael thanked an unidentifiable deity for his lack of severe bodily insecurities. 

Anyways - 

The car horn kept blaring and Michael kept staring at the table, wondering how fucked he was going to be when he got home. If he got home. 

That was dramatic, but Jeremy was also passed out by his feet. 

Michael really wished he had kept his phone on him. Maybe he would know what the fuck was going on. 

But until the universe presented some answers, Michael kept himself in his chair, waiting for no particular reason. He could leave Jeremy in the dust, give him a taste of his own medicine, but he wasn’t cruel like that. He still cared about Jeremy, no matter how much he destroyed their friendship. 

So, in the middle of Michael’s contemplation, he didn’t expect for Brooke Lohst to come tip toeing down the stairs, and sit across from him at the table. 

“Is he okay?” 

“Jeremy’s been through worse, you know that.” 

“Michael -“ 

“Can we not?” 

“I think we have to talk about this,” 

“I don’t want to. Please get that through your head.” Brooke set her hands on top of the table, her eyes boring holes into the wood. 

“Michael, someone is going to get the wrong idea if we ignore it, someone is going to tell, someone -“ 

“I don’t care.” He was tired, hungover, he had lost his phone and he really wanted to play World of Warcraft to waste a few hours to pure numbness. 

Maybe he’d muster up the energy to find his dab pen and melt away for a little while. Brooke had other ideas, ideas that didn’t involve World or Warcraft or immense amounts of THC. 

“Maybe we should go to the hospital? What do they call those things?” She snapped her fingers and pointed to him, 

“The kits - the -“ 

“Brooke. Shut. Up. Please.” Michael didn’t realize his nails were digging into his palms until he unclenched them, letting the crescent shaped dents left behind burn a little bit. 

Brooke stopped talking, but her eyes were so unmistakably sad, it was nauseating. The last thing he wanted was Brooke Lohst to pity him. 

He really wanted to get high. He wanted nothing more than to find his phone, kick Jeremy awake, and get them out of there.

Jeremy kept snoring and Brooke kept staring. It made his stomach turn, or maybe it was the sushi he had washed down with the red bull vodka he had somehow managed to choke down. 

Michael wished, not for the first time, that he was more careful when it came to getting wasted. He should’ve gotten that through his head the first time he’d woken up with half of his night faded into a blur of sitting in his room, having been more stoned than half the white people in Los Angeles. 

“Michael, are you even listening to me?” 

“Nope,” He popped the ‘p’ and rubbed at his eyes, the haze around his surroundings was clearing up.

“Not funny,” 

“I didn’t say it was?” 

“I’m taking you to the hospital, now.” 

“Brooke -“ 

“No. Michael, shut up.” 

“Brooke!” 

“Michael!” 

“Michael?” Jeremy groaned, half awake, with one eye stuck closed. He looked ridiculously hungover. 

They stayed there for a few moments, silent, as the car horn finally cut out, and was quickly replaced by a soft knocking at the front door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little look inside a Michael Mell Ceterfied Breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry about the long wait between chapters, I’ve been particularly uninspired as of late. Oops. But! I’m seeing BMC this evening, so why not upload?
> 
> Anyways! Here you go, hope you enjoy. 
> 
> (It’s unedited, messy, probably incoherent, and mentions suicide attempts and self harm. Stay safe.)

Michael refused to wear short sleeves around his moms. He dragged them down with him and he wouldn’t let it happen again. He refused to let it happen again. 

The worst of it was from the week before the party. They weren’t thin, purposeful lines, but jagged gashes. Then there was the issue of the vertical lines on his left arm. Two small and pathetic looking scars and one that sent his one of his mothers to the hospital hallway, sobbing. 

He was just glad that both of them didn’t fall apart the moment they saw his arms. Or maybe they did when they got home, and got away from their broken son. He liked to ignore that thought. 

Michael was doing fine. He was getting better, and his head was clear for once. Frankly, he was doing even better without Jeremy’s constant presence. That was a splinter he wasn’t willing to pull out yet, it had its time and place, so, it could wait. 

He could wait until it healed over. If it ever would, if he could ever forget that night. 

In the beginning of his senior year it was all a breath of fresh air and the feeling right before the first big drop on a rollercoaster wrapped into one. By some miracle of God, he managed to get through the first week without his existence being scrutinized by the entire high school population (he even managed to interact with Jeremy without wanting to slice his wrists open and ask him if he could ever get his head out of his own ass to realize how much he was hurting). 

Until Jenna Roland brought up the party in her advanced Latin class. Michael had made the mistake of thinking he was in the clear. It was mildly pathetic when he really thought about it. How could anyone forget that? 

His mothers sure didn’t. Michael didn’t miss the wrinkled noses that turned up when Jeremy walked in the door. A decade of friendship, destroyed, not by some computerized anti depressant, but by a party. A dumb, a stupid, a ridiculously dangerous party. By some stupid knocking at the door and one person asking all the wrong questions. Handcuffs and accusations. It was more like being in the middle of the Sept of Baylor in Game of Thrones, you know, right when it blew up. 

Michael really wanted his moms to tell him Jeremy wasn’t allowed over anymore, but he wasn’t seven anymore, they gave him more responsibility than he knew what to do with. 

Maybe that’s why the scars on his arms scared them so much. He didn’t think his bodily autonomy was something that came with age, but maybe his mothers did. 

Back to Jenna. She spilled as she always did, and the Latin kids, they turned out to be almost as vicious with drama as Jenna had been the year prior. They were like hyenas, Michael had to stop going to school. He nearly broke the jaw of a sophomore when they sharpied “rapist” on his locker. 

Jenna Roland really fucked him over with that one. Jeremy had held him back, hissing at Jenna to shut her mouth when she went to comment on the situation. 

That didn’t stop Michael from hating Jeremy, it didn’t ease the tear in his heart. 

It didn’t ease the burning from the rhetorical sept that his life was. Or maybe it was more comparable to Sleeping Beauty, her fate decided from the start. 

His head was a mess. Michael kept wishing for a time machine, or a little pill that could fix everything he didn’t do. He suddenly got the appeal of a SQUIP. It made him nauseous with fear, what if he was becoming more like Jeremy than he was comfortable with? 

At least he could say he didn’t shove a knife in his best friend’s back. 

With every scar on his wrist he compared it to the pain he felt in reality, and reality always won out as more torturous. So he sliced and smoked his way out. He wore sweaters with stupid patterns and avoided his moms. He talked to Jeremy liked he still liked him, he fucked around and acted happy. 

It worked until it didn’t.


End file.
